I try every day to look for things to be thankful for and to find the positives in life. When given the choice between laughter and tears, I almost always choose laughter. Still, some parts of life are harder to accept than others.
Caring for my mom as dementia takes hold and missing so many family members who now live in Heaven are two realities that make my heart ache. Those losses force me to set aside laughter and grieve.
There is another quietly painful part of life I’ve had to confront: the slow process of letting go of my children as they grow into adults.
It hit me most clearly two years ago, on the day this little boy
graduated from high school. That boy was our oldest son, Brad, and watching him cross that threshold stirred unexpected emotions in me. I hadn’t been one of those moms who wept on the first day of kindergarten; I watched them board the bus with hope instead of fear, glad to see them start to explore the world beyond our home.
But years later, the milestone of graduation brought a different kind of ache. It’s the realization that an era has passed: the era of a family of five living together every day in the same house. The quiet routines, shared breakfasts and late-night conversations shift into memory.
Now, a few more years have passed and our second oldest, Joel, is graduating from high school.
Joel’s graduation brings the familiar twist in my chest: the bittersweet recognition that we must release the everyday closeness that defined our family for so long. Letting go is not just saying goodbye to the person you raised; it’s accepting the end of a chapter and trusting the lessons you’ve shared will guide them in the wider world.
Letting go also means trusting that the values, skills and faith we’ve tried to instill will help them face life’s challenges. It means celebrating their readiness to step into independence and trusting that our guidance will remain with them even when we’re not physically present.
Most of all, letting go demands we celebrate. Graduation is a celebration of memories—of childhood laughter, late-night talks, shared meals and small victories. It’s also a celebration of new beginnings: friendships yet to form, lessons waiting to be learned, and paths not yet taken.
As we prepare for Joel’s graduation celebration this week, I’m wiping away tears and choosing to focus on gratitude: gratitude for the years we had all together, for the chance to watch my sons grow, and for the new adventures waiting for them.
Congratulations, Joel. You have blessed our lives beyond words. Though for a few hours you were once named Brett Alan, I’m so glad you became Joel Mark. I can’t imagine it any other way.
And a small, fond note about my boys: they’ve always been unexpectedly talented at growing facial hair. Joel shaved off his beard just hours after a little photo shoot—does that mean we need to do it all over again? Maybe. For now, I’ll hold onto the images, the memories, and the sweet ache of watching my children move into the next chapter of their lives.